


Dreams

by dragons_in_the_north



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Dream Sex, M/M, Shared Dreams, and at this point I'm too afraid to ask, i don't know how Dream Symbolism works, it's not self-indulgent if it's a dream sequence!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:13:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28322169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragons_in_the_north/pseuds/dragons_in_the_north
Summary: Based on a prompt from are-are-kay on Tumblr: "Jimmy and Thomas begin sharing the same sex dreams every evening, but of course they don’t tell one another about them- however they are both present in these dreams, and something one of them does in waking life gives it away to the other party…"
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Jimmy Kent
Comments: 7
Kudos: 60





	Dreams

_Jimmy and Thomas sat stark naked at the upstairs dining room table, while Mr Carson and Alfred orbited around them, piling diced potatoes and steaming cod onto their already heaping plates. The table was set for at least twenty people, but they were the only two dinner guests, each man positioned at either end. A cold, unending blackness lay behind the enormous picture windows, but when Jimmy looked up, he saw the ceiling had transformed into a night sky glittering with stars, blazing comets and planets zooming and whirling across the landscape. Just beyond the door, a wild, unseen party was in full swing. Even muted by the paneled wood, the music and dancing and chatter and_ noise _overwhelmed Jimmy, made his stomach churn with unease. He brought his hands up to his ears._

_“Don’t worry about them,” said Thomas. Although he didn’t raise his voice, Jimmy could hear him perfectly well. “They can’t bother us inside here. We’re safe.”_

_And—as if someone had turned down the volume on a gramophone—the wall of sound abated somewhat. Jimmy removed his hands, letting them rest upon the pristine, white tablecloth. Alfred and Mr Carson were gone. He hadn’t seen them go. The tower of food on his plate leaned precariously, tipping this way and that as if in a high wind. The glass of wine was filled up nearly to the brim. From what felt like miles away Thomas tore into the meal before him as if he hadn’t eaten in days._

_“You might as well tuck in,” said Thomas around a mouthful of roasted chicken. “Mrs Patmore isn’t likely to feed us so well anytime soon.” He drank deeply from his own glass, leaving a crimson stain upon already rosy lips. When he licked a dark droplet from the corner of his mouth with the tip of a soft, pink tongue, the sight made Jimmy’s breath catch._

_Jimmy sat next to Thomas now, on his left. On the other side of the door, tinkling champagne flutes and squeaky dress shoes vanished into thin air. A warm, intimate hush swept in to fill the gap. Jimmy realized that he wasn’t hungry at all. At least, not for food. With roving eyes, he took in pale, soft-looking skin, the sloping line of a pair of broad shoulders, the dusting of ink-black hair trailing southward. He lifted the tablecloth in one hand where it hid Thomas’ lap from view. Shadows ought to have obscured the juncture between firm, creamy thighs, but Jimmy saw everything. He felt hot all over._

_Glancing up, letting the stiff, white fabric slide back into place, Jimmy noticed Thomas grinning like a schoolboy with a handful of stolen sweets in his pocket. “Ready for dessert, are we?” he said._

_Their plates were empty suddenly. Jimmy could see no dessert anywhere. In fact, Thomas was no longer in his seat, either. He decided to get up and leave—but then, from underneath the table, came a whisper of sensation against the skin of his knee. A kiss, he realized. He gasped and obligingly parted his legs. Another kiss landed on his inner thigh, tongue darting out teasingly. More followed, a line of warm, open-mouthed kisses trailing up the length of twitching muscle, wandering closer and closer to his—_

Jimmy woke to a shrieking alarm clock and a throbbing erection straining against cotton sleep trousers. He groaned, fumbling blindly to switch the damned thing off. Right away, he knew there was no hope of willing his arousal away, not without being late for breakfast and drawing Mr Carson’s ire. He finished himself off in quick, efficient strokes, thoughts fixed firmly on a red, generous mouth. When he’d collected himself, he rolled out of bed and stumbled into his livery.

Of course, the dream didn’t _mean_ anything. Dreams were mad, indecipherable things, no matter what that German chappie with the beard claimed. A peaceful man might dream of violence, and a thin man might dream of being fat, and a proper, red-blooded man might dream of… of being like Thomas. Besides, who’s to say it was even him under that table? It could have been the new girl at the tavern with the gap-toothed smile and ample bosom. It could have been anyone.

By the time he’d stepped into the servants’ hall, he’d practically forgotten the whole thing. Everyone else was already seated; Mr Carson shot him a warning glare, but didn’t deem him worth telling off. Jimmy’s eyes travelled over to Thomas’ usual spot. He was holding up a book Jimmy didn’t recognize. It was a pale blue paperback. The front cover featured an illustration of a human face in profile, the top of the skull missing so as to show a cross-section of the brain, different bits filled in with different colours. _Lucid Dreaming_ , read the title in shimmering, gold letters, and then below it, the author’s name— _Z M Templeton._

Thomas said to Mrs Hughes, “I found the thing in a shop in York, fallen behind a bookcase, gathering dust. It tells you how to control your dreams, see? I tried the technique last night.” Pale eyes glittered, mouth twitched as if holding back a smile. “It worked wonders.”

Jimmy pulled out his chair and sat down beside Anna. Mr Carson harrumphed. “I don’t appreciate talk of witchcraft at breakfast,” he said.

“It’s not _witchcraft,_ Mr Carson.” Jimmy knew Thomas well enough to see that he was fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “It’s science. Before you settle in to sleep, you perform what the book calls _mental exercises—_ ”

“Whatever it may be,” interrupted Mr Carson, “I don’t think a person’s private fantasies ought to be discussed in public.” He raised a bushy eyebrow at Thomas in a significant way over a forkful of sausage.

_You mean that the workings of Thomas’ mind offend your delicate sensibilities, you smarmy, old bastard,_ Jimmy thought, caught up in a sudden and overwhelming fit of anger. He wished everyone would quit going on about the topic of dreams. The conversation was making his stomach do somersaults.

Jaw tight, Thomas set the book down beside his plate. He noticed just then that Jimmy had snuck into the room. That porcelain face transformed in an instant from a cold, untouchable statue to a painfully earnest man, warm and breathing and so very alive. And all the more handsome for it—there was no harm in Jimmy admitting that, so long as he didn’t think it with any sort of passionate emotion. Thomas picked up his cup of tea. “Good morning, James,” he said brightly. “How did you sleep?”

A phantom brush of lips beneath the seam of his trousers swept a shiver through Jimmy. He hurriedly shoveled scrambled eggs onto his plate and pretended not to have heard the question.

When he went to bed that night, Jimmy told himself, in no uncertain terms, that he would not dream of Thomas at all while he slept. Come morning, Thomas Barrow would be the very last thing on his mind. How silly he would feel.

\---

_Snow drifted gently, almost lazily, down to the earth, yet already it was piling up in huge drifts upon the Abbey’s grounds, some as tall as a man. Jimmy stood on the lawn, facing in the direction of the woods, where towering evergreens dripped with icicles. To his right, he could see the rise of a hill, and the folly perched atop—although it ought to have been on the other side of the house. Beyond that lay an expanse of dark, glittering sea, the waves crashing and foaming right up to grass stiff with frost. Many miles away, a tall, skinny building of brick squatted upon the uneasy waters. Somehow Jimmy could read the weathered sign even from such a distance—it said, BARROW’S CLOCK REPAIR SHOPPE._

_Jimmy was barefoot and wearing pyjamas. He was neither cold, nor wet._

_The cart came bouncing down the path before clattering to a stop beside him. No horses were attached to the front, but the reins were taut in Mrs Hughes’ hand. Anna sat beside her. Two others sat at the back, feet dangling off the edge. One was a young girl with a sharp, little chin and straw-coloured plaits tied in ribbon down her back—Jimmy’s first kiss. He’d been nine, she’d been ten. He’d asked her what she’d gone and done a thing like_ that _for, and she’d punched him square in the jaw. The young, miserable-looking man beside her, immaculate in a military uniform, he didn’t recognize. There was something wrong with his eyes. Jimmy didn’t like to look at him._

_“We’re going ice skating on the lake!” Anna called down to him. “Will you come?”_

_“No, thank you,” said Jimmy. “I’ll wait for him here.”_

_Anna shrugged; the cart trundled on. “I think you’ll find,” said the sad young man as they disappeared into the trees, “that_ he’s _waiting for_ you. _”_

_Sure enough, Jimmy turned around, and there Thomas was, only an arm’s length away. He wore a footman’s livery. He looked young, younger than Jimmy had ever seen him, but perhaps that was only the clothes. His left hand was ungloved and unwounded. He smiled in visible relief; it warmed Jimmy from the inside out._

_“You took your time coming, didn’t you?” said Thomas. “I was worried it hadn’t worked tonight.”_

_Jimmy didn’t understand. “It’s snowing,” he said, gesturing to the fat flakes fluttering above their heads._

_Thomas nodded. “Nice, isn’t it? Me mum used to say when it snowed, the angels were shaking the loose feathers from their wings.”_

_“Did she now?” Jimmy took his arm. It seemed the thing to do._

_“She was… she was sad, a lot of the time,” he continued. “But every winter she’d go out with me and me sister, playing in the snow like she were a kid herself.”_

_Jimmy laughed and pulled Thomas closer to him, so their shoulders touched. In return, the other man ran warm, gentle fingers through his hair, from forehead to nape. He leaned into the touch._

_“That’s where I grew up.” Thomas pointed to the brick building. It had the appearance of a tower with the waves surging around it, a lighthouse that had lost its light. “We lived in the flat on the top floor.”_

_“What was that like?” Jimmy asked softly. “Being a scabby-kneed, little boy in a palace of clocks?”_

_Thomas’ gaze, fixed on something beyond the horizon, went hard as flint. “Difficult.”_

_He was upset. They had so little time together, and Jimmy was wasting it by making Thomas sad. He disentangled his arm from the other man’s so he could manoeuvre him into a loose embrace. “Let’s dance, aye?”_

_“There’s no music, you noodle,” replied Thomas, but of course there was. It was a song Jimmy had heard in a dance hall in London, recreated exactly as he’d heard it. They swayed together to the blare of the trumpet and the low, muted cry of the clarinet. Thomas was very good on his feet, although he kept trying to lead._

_Jimmy must have tripped, for the two of them tumbled over. He landed on top of Thomas. Beneath the man’s body, a thick layer of snow melted to reveal green, green grass, bright as springtime. Tiny flowers of all different colours bloomed in a halo around him. He was handsome—so very, very handsome. Jimmy was hard, and he could feel Thomas’ answering erection pressed into his hip. It all felt so natural. It was the easiest thing in the world to rub up against him, to seek out pleasure and give it in return. Thomas groaned, wrapping his arms tightly about Jimmy’s back so they could better move as one. They were still dancing, Jimmy realised. Just a different kind._

_Sparks zinged up his spine as they settled into an urgent rhythm. Below him, Thomas’ face had flushed the loveliest shade of pink. From his lips spilled a steady stream of soft, needy noises that travelled directly to Jimmy’s cock—but they touched his heart too, and the tender emotions spreading all through him made him positively_ ache. _When hot, dry palms slid under Jimmy’s shirt, moving across his skin like fire, he well and truly thought he would die._

_“Thomas, you’re wonderful,” he gasped, the two of them sharing breath. “You’re—_ ahh _—the most wonderful man I’ve ever—” He couldn’t finish the sentence. He was beyond words as he bucked up into the friction and the heat, the coil in his gut winding unbearably tight._

_But Thomas—Thomas went dead still beneath him. Wide, pale eyes swam with tears. “Oh, love,” he said, a hand pressed to Jimmy’s cheek, “if only it were really you saying that.”_

_Jimmy was confused. Of course it was him, it was Thomas who wasn’t real. He opened his mouth to say so—_

And blinked into the cold, grey light of dawn.

Shortly after upstairs luncheon, it began to snow. Not a little sprinkling, either, but a dense cloud that swirled about behind the glass windows as if the denizens of Downton Abbey were all trapped inside an enormous snow globe. And yes, all right, it was a _little_ strange to see as early as the end of October, but Jimmy didn’t see why everyone he bumped into in the hall made such a fuss about it. As far as he was concerned, the weather was some kind of ill omen. He didn’t like the idea of anything from last night’s dream coming true.

At tea, Miss Baxter said, “If it keeps up like this, by tomorrow there’ll be enough on the ground for making snowmen and sledding down the hill.”

“It certainly would be nice,” said Mrs Hughes, “if the hall boys had a few hours off to enjoy it before it all melts.” She cast a meaningful glance in Mr Carson’s direction.

“I’ll consider it,” Mr Carson replied. But any ambiguity vanished when Mrs Hughes discreetly patted his hand, and the butler’s disagreeable expression softened considerably. The hall boys let out a cheer. Molesley also let out a cheer, just far enough behind to be awkward.

“What about you, Mr Barrow?” asked Anna. “Do you like the snow?”

Thomas, who’d been avoiding everyone’s gazes and methodically crumbling a biscuit to bits on his saucer, glanced up like a startled deer. Mostly he looked as put together as ever, but Jimmy noticed his eyes were rimmed with red. His heart twisted painfully at the sight.

“Oh,” Thomas muttered. “Yes, I suppose I do. After all the colours of Autumn, a bit of white would make a nice change.” He sounded as if he were warming to the topic. “Me mum used to say that when it snowed—”

“The angels were shaking the loose feathers from their wings,” Jimmy finished without looking up from his tea.

Then he did look up, to find Thomas staring at him with ill-concealed horror, face grey as ash. Jimmy couldn’t understand why he was so upset. He’d _told_ him that, he’d said it just last night—

Oh. Oh, no.

It couldn’t be possible. And yet somehow it was.

Teatime seemed to last an eternity after that. By mutual unspoken agreement, the two men stayed away from one another for the rest of the day. At one point in the evening, they nearly physically collided with each other while exiting opposite doors out into the corridor. Thomas’ lips immediately flattened into a thin, white line. He made as if to march off, clipboard held in front of him like a shield.

Jimmy blurted out, “My mother, she—” Too loud. He cleared his throat and tried again. “She used to say the same thing. That’s why I—you know. In the middle of tea.” Hurriedly, he shut his trap before he could make even more of a fool of himself.

Thomas’ expression could not have made it clearer that he didn’t believe him. Ears burning, Jimmy turned on his heel and strode into the kitchen. He charmed one of the kitchen maids into brewing him an entire pot of coffee. Then he took the whole thing directly up to his room in the attic. Outside the window, the sky was pitch black. It would be hours and hours until morning. He didn’t change into pyjamas, instead stiffly arranging himself on the wobbly, uncomfortable chair beside the desk.

One, two, three cups of coffee burned their way down a scalded throat. But even as his pulse jittered and his fingers trembled against the handle of the mug, the leaden weight of his eyelids became harder and harder to ignore. He would not fall asleep that night, he would _not._ Although if he rested his head in the cradle of his arms, just for a minute or so, that couldn’t do any harm. And perhaps he would close his eyes for five seconds only. He would count them out. Then he would be alert as ever, and he wouldn’t sleep a w—

\---

_Jimmy sat side by side with Thomas at the head of an enormous, four-poster bed draped in satin sheets, their backs propped up by a mountain of plush pillows that threatened to spill over the sides. The guest bedroom was immediately recognisable from the times Jimmy had hauled valises through the door, and on one occasion, valeted for a visiting Lord. But the ceiling had been lowered, the walls set closer in, making the overall atmosphere quite cozy. The effect was aided by the lack of electric light; instead candles were placed all around the room—some even floated in the air—bathing everything in a soft, yellow glow. Within arm’s reach, a serving trolley had been piled high with dessert. A skyscraper of a cake was piped with rosettes, a tray of ginger biscuits oozed icing, a heart-shaped bowl nearly overflowed with strawberry ice cream. To top it off, a bottle of champagne chilled in an ice bucket. From far away, Jimmy’s ears could just pick up the gentle tinkling of a piano._

_They were both naked, of course._

_“God in Heaven,” whispered Jimmy. He truly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry._

_To his relief, Thomas didn’t seem pleased with this little display, either. In fact, he looked furious, eyes narrowed, red lips pulled back in a snarl. Were that expression directed at Jimmy, he might even have been frightened. Thomas bounded off the bed and strode about the room like a caged tiger, yanking at the doors and the windows. They were all stuck fast. He grabbed a brass ornament off the dresser and attempted to break one of the window panes, but it was tough as steel._

_The champagne uncorked itself with an audible pop. Jimmy and Thomas both suddenly found their fingers wrapped around the slender stem of a fizzing glass. Thomas hurled his at the wall. It exploded mid-air in a shower of violet sparks. Jimmy set his own down on the nightstand. He pulled the sheets off the bed and wrapped them about himself in a hastily-fashioned cloak. The fabric promptly unwound from around his shoulders, sliding back into place atop the mattress, any wrinkles smoothed away. He grabbed a pillow and held it against his crotch. It dissolved to nothing in his hands. As if in retaliation, the piano music grew louder._

_Thomas climbed into the wardrobe and slammed it closed behind him. Jimmy, unsure of what the hell else to do, reached for the glass of champagne to down the entire thing in one gulp. A moment later, the wardrobe door banged open. Thomas was thrown out bodily, landing in a heap on the carpet. He scrambled to his feet, apparently unhurt. With a growl, he tilted his head up to the ceiling._

_“Stop it!_ Stop! _” he said in the sharp, impatient tone of voice he’d used many a time with a misbehaving hall boy. The white, terribly handsome face shining in the candlelight folded in on itself, crumpling like paper. “I don’t_ want _it anymore.”_

_Their surroundings kept right on being what they were._

_Thomas sighed heavily and trudged back over to the bed. With the grace drilled into him by his profession, he arranged himself neatly at the end of the bed before hiding his face in his hands. Broad shoulders began to tremble minutely._

_Jimmy hated to see anyone cry. But usually that sentiment sprang from ambivalence. Now he felt the painful pricking at his heart, the damned helplessness that had kept him company as he tried in vain to console his weeping mother in the colourless, drawn-out days following the news of her husband’s death. He crawled to the other end of the bed and sat down beside the shivering figure._

_“Oh_ don’t, _Thomas,” he said—pleaded, really. “Come on, it’s not as black as all that.” He gently placed a hand on Thomas’ back. Immediately, the other man recoiled as if he’d been burnt. They didn’t touch often, it was true, but Thomas had never refused Jimmy like that before. It stung._

_Thomas said, voice muffled, “I’m so, so sorry, Jimmy.”_

_“Why? You haven’t done anything wrong.”_

_“Haven’t done—” Thomas’ face lifted from his hands, expression bewildered. “I followed the book’s instructions. I brought you here.” Misery darkened his eyes. “I swear, if I’d known it was the real you, and not just my imagination, I never would have… never would have done those things. You have to believe that.”_

_“Oh!” Jimmy understood now. “You think these are_ your _dreams.”_

_Thomas blinked. “Well, aren’t they?”_

_“Yes,” Jimmy answered. “But they’re mine too. They’re_ ours. _” Thomas looked doubtful. Jimmy gestured at the music that drifted physical as a cloud above their heads. “You hear that sonata? Me ma used to play it for me dad when they thought I were asleep in bed.” He pointed to the dessert tray. “And strawberry’s me favourite. I never told you that, did I? You see, I have a say in what goes on in here.” Thomas’ hands were resting on his thighs. The one closest to Jimmy, the left, was ungloved but not unscarred—pink, raw-looking skin ran up his palm all the way to his pinky and ring finger. Jimmy held it as tightly as he dared. “We never did anything I didn’t want to do.”_

_“But how can you_ know _that?” Thomas sounded wretched, but he didn’t try to remove his hand from Jimmy’s grip. “I might have only made you think you wanted it.”_

_“Because I want you even when I’m awake.” And as he said the words, he knew them to be true. “Because I wanted you even before the dreams began.”_

_“Jimmy.” It was just a name, but Thomas said it so tenderly, with such reverence—as if Jimmy were special or important, someone more than a boy with a pretty face and a rotten heart. Perhaps he was, perhaps he could be._

_“I suppose I had to sort things out here, where it’s safe,” said Jimmy. “I couldn’t understand before how… how you could be so brave. But now I do.” He lifted Thomas’ fingertips up to his lips, pressing a kiss to each digit. The other man watched, wide-eyed. “Being with you, it’s like magic.”_

_“That’s just ’cause we’re in a dream,” Thomas said, his voice thick and wobbly with emotion._

_Jimmy shook his head emphatically. “No, it’s because you’re_ you. _God, Thomas, the way you make me feel, makes even a coward like me want to be brave. I could—no, I_ will _be brave for you. You’re the only thing in this sodding world worth being brave for.”_

_When Jimmy looked up from neatly-manicured fingernails, he found that red, beautiful mouth quite close to his own. They came together, and he closed his eyes at the first hesitant brush of skin on skin, overcome._

He opened them to his own bedroom, blazing with electric light. He was half-sitting in the chair, half-lying on the desk in the most awkward position imaginable. When he stretched and yawned, a dreadful crick in his neck made itself known. Rich, velvety darkness still outside whispered against the window pane. He checked the clock—it was a little past two o’clock in the morning. Without a second thought, he slipped off shiny, black shoes and padded—in footman’s livery and stockinged feet—out into the hall, over to Thomas’ door.

He knocked as loudly as he dared, heart pounding in his throat. Thomas answered promptly, as if he’d been waiting nearby. He was wearing pyjamas, not bothering with the robe or slippers. Stepping aside to let Jimmy in, a nervous smile twitched at his mouth. The lamp was on. The narrow, spartan bed was unmade, slept in, sheets yawning open in invitation. With a soft click, the door shut behind them.

“Thomas, can we just—” Jimmy caught his breath at the wide, hopeful eyes trained on his own. “Can we just pick up where we left off? You know, _in there?_ ”

Thomas’ tense expression melted into unbearable tenderness, and he leaned in for a kiss. Jimmy immediately stepped away. “Wait.” Thomas shrank back, visibly hurt. Guilt prickled at the nape of Jimmy’s neck; he hastened to explain, “I only meant—we weren’t wearing any clothes, were we?”

“Oh,” said Thomas, very softly. He didn’t move until Jimmy shrugged off his footman’s jacket and began to unbutton his waistcoat. Then he peeled off the pyjamas, and the pants underneath, with an easy grace that made Jimmy’s trousers suddenly a good deal tighter than they had been.

Of course Jimmy, with his many layers, took longer. Thomas knelt to help him with his sock garters. Jimmy’s fingers fumbled with his tie, then halted as he took in the sight of the man at his feet. The chest was hairier than it had been in dreams, the middle softer. A sprinkling of silver hairs that had been absent shone at the temples. When Thomas stood back up, Jimmy whispered in his ear, “For the record, I think you’re even handsomer this way.”

Thomas blushed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Liar.” Thomas turned his head to the side to hide a grin.

Only when the final article of clothing was removed did Jimmy feel a bit nervous. He resisted the urge to cross his arms in front of him as Thomas’ gaze moved over his expanse of bare skin, physical as touch. He managed a cheeky smile. “What do you think, Mr Barrow? Am I a dream come true?”

Thomas chuckled and wrapped strong, muscled arms around Jimmy, whose every atom sang in reply. He bit down hard on his own lip in an attempt to keep composure. Shakily, he said, “It all feels so much more _intense_ out here.”

“Mm-hm.” Thomas gently brushed a loose strand of gold off of Jimmy’s brow. “Is it too much?”

“No,” said Jimmy without hesitation, “no, it’s absolutely perfect.” He leaned up and kissed Thomas firmly, passionately, melting into the embrace as effortlessly and irrevocably as falling into sleep.

Afterwards, they lay curled up together in bed, their heads resting side by side upon the lumpy, misshapen pillow, their bodies pleasantly worn out. A branch scratched repeatedly against one of the windows, and the blanket was too thin to entirely keep out the chill, and Molesley’s thunderous snores carried all the way from his room three doors down—yet the two men slept soundly, their minds blissfully blank, for dreams couldn’t hope to touch what they already had.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find the prompt list in its entirety [HERE](https://are-are-kay.tumblr.com/post/64448933867/thommy-prompts-list). Feedback is appreciated. I'm also on Tumblr as donnqnoble.


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